


How to Make a Home: Oneshots from the Rogers Household

by Loquatorious



Series: Homebound [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Children, Domestic Fluff, Eventual James Rogers, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Introspection, Marriage, Post-Endgame, Secret Marriage, Spoilers, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-02-21 16:42:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18706267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loquatorious/pseuds/Loquatorious
Summary: SPOILERS FOR AVENGERS ENDGAMESteve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff have quit the game. The newly engaged couple are eager to begin a brand new life of domestic bliss, 70 years in the past, on what will someday become the Barton family homestead. Join the solider and the spy as they journey through the rest of their lives together, through sickness, health, love and healing - and maybe a couple of little ones along the way.If home is where the heart is then family is where it's built.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place after the events of chapter 8 of Homebound. It is HIGHLY recommended that you read Homebound in order to get the full context of the story.

It’s strange, Natasha notes, to see the house that she’s seen so many times looking like it is now. Compared to the homely, welcoming space that the homestead would grow into by the time Clint would move in and raise his group of troublemakers, it seems empty, lifeless. It’s like it’s waiting for someone to make it a home. It’s a good thing then, Natasha thinks as she reaches out for the hand of her new fiancé, that they’ve got decades ahead of them to do just that.

Because whilst it doesn’t look like much yet, she knows that the two of them will make it something beautiful. Together.

It was surprisingly easy to buy the property in the end. All they had to do was show up, shine their brightest smiles, throw in a few compliments here or there, and the landowner was happy to see the back of it. Of course, the generous sum of money they offered for it helped smooth things along. They had been reluctant to take the money, but Pepper had insisted. Tony would have wanted them to get a life, and if any amount of his vast fortune could assist with that, she assured the couple that he would have given it away in a heartbeat.

Besides, due to the inflation rates over the past 70 years, the money they had been given would last them much longer than it would have in the present day. Explaining how two complete strangers could suddenly appear with full wallets and no bank account would have been hard to explain, but they did business straight with the owner of the property, who was willing to take a bonus for no questions asked.

She can tell which parts of the property are missing simply from comparing it to the image in her mind, and thanks to his eidetic memory so can Steve. The barn’s missing, the veranda is less than developed, the tyre swing on the tree is gone, and the inside especially was going to take some work. It would seem daunting, if not for the fact they were both very used to manual labour and therefore didn’t tire easily.

They both agreed that Steve would tackle the barn and that she would go through each of the rooms with the supplies they had bought, renovating them one by one.

She started with the master bedroom (because lord knows they would need it), moving through each of the upstairs rooms and checking what would need to be changed. She counted five rooms on the upstairs (four bedrooms and one bathroom). Plenty of room for them. Maybe even room for more…

She retraced her steps, glancing into the room where, several years from now, she’ll pour her heart out for another man. A man who, in the end, chose to run away, just like she said he would. ‘ _A man who spends his whole life running away from the fight because he knows he’ll win._ ’ That’s how she described him. Was it any surprise that, when it finally came down to something that couldn’t be solved with muscle, he would be spooked? The two of them, together, was something they would’ve had to fight for, but he didn’t want that. He wanted peace. So, she let him run away.

It’s a good thing she found someone who wouldn’t ever run from her. ‘ _A small guy from Brooklyn, too damn stubborn to run away from a fight._ ’ Steve told her that that was how Bucky had once summed him up. Bucky was right. He was the one who ran head-first into conflict, trying desperately to make some meaning out of it, relying on his morals to keep him true. He was the one who brought her home, because no matter how hopeless it seemed, no matter how far the odds were stacked against him, Steve Rogers was never the person to run away.  

He hadn’t told her what happened during his journey of returning the infinity stones, but that was alright. She had secrets too, things that she had never told anyone, except for Clint. Dreykov’s daughter alone made her squirm. Natasha knew that in time it would all come out, as would Steve’s little secrets. And they would both be there, right by each other’s sides, every step of the way. That was the promise he made to her. That was the promise she was now wearing on her middle finger.

Reaching down and feeling her ring, its solid, still form against her fingers, had become therapeutic. It had become a tangible reminder that there was someone who loved her, that was she something far more than the sum of all her mistakes. She couldn’t wait until she could give Steve something similar. Something that reminded him just how much she loved him.

Natasha realised, as she brought herself back into the present, that she had been staring at an empty cot in the corner of the room this whole time. It was a cruel stab to her heart that reminded her of her greatest failure.

No, she insisted to herself, not _her_ failure. It was what had been taken from her, from such as young age, before she knew what it truly meant. They thought they had accounted for the one thing that could ever be more important than the mission, but Natasha knew, deep down, as she continued rubbing her thumb against the silver band, they hadn’t. Because she still had Steve, the one man who could convince her to give it all up. _He_ was more important than the mission. _They_ were more important to her than any mission. And even if she couldn’t give him a child, she could give him the rest of her life to show him that. And she would.

That was her mission.

She was done sulking over what she lost. All that mattered now was what she had left.

And what she had left, she reminded herself as she shifted back into house-manager mode, was the downstairs rooms to check out.

The utilities were all functional - not the luxury they had become used to in the Avengers facility, but they would do fine. A living room with a common area and a radio set up (as per usual in 1953). Not exactly the most advanced entertainment system ever made. Luckily, they had brought some modern appliances with them so that they could enjoy a few of the comforts they knew they back home, including a tv and DVD player. Natasha smiled as she remembered all the films and she and Steve had yet to watch. Even better, they take it one decade at a time, maybe even see them in theatres if they wanted.

She was going to miss Netflix, though.

She trod carefully through the hallway back onto the veranda, where, just a way down the path, Steve had already gotten started on the barn’s foundations. A little more than a month and it should be complete, she reckoned. That was the benefit of having a beefy super soldier at her beck and call, especially when said super soldier had a habit of wearing shirts just a little too tight…

As soon as she had the opportunity, Natasha was going to ‘conveniently misplace’ every single one of Steve's razors.

*

It was later that evening after Steve had finished laying out the groundwork for the barn and the sun had begun to set over the trees when the two of them turned in for the evening. Dinner was nothing special, just what Steve could cook up with the few supplies they had brought with them. Tomorrow, the two of them were going to find the nearest shop and make an inventory.

They had a lot they needed to sort out, all over the property. Moving in and renovating the place wasn’t going to be easy, Steve knew that. He also knew, as a small hand reached across from the other side of the table to rest on his, a glint of silver in the corner of his, that he would cherish every moment of it.

He remembered how he felt when he last stood in the doorway of this house, just after his confrontation with Wanda. That vision of Peggy beckoning him to a home that he couldn’t have nor did he know he wanted had clung to him like a parasite, draining away his resolve. He remembered just standing there, listening to sounds of Clint’s family laughing together, of Natasha laughing along with them… The feelings he already knew were manifesting were suddenly attacking him from every front. He couldn’t help but imagine a home of his own, with Natasha right there with him, where they could simply be, and not have to worry about the next battle that he knew was coming right around the corner.

Back then he had thought that dream was just that, something that would only haunt him, just like the vision he had been subjected too. He thought if he buried himself in the job, if he focused on being Captain America, that Steve Rogers and all his hopes and desires would simply fade away. It was better than the alternative, of having something he wanted so desperately, but knowing that it would never, ever happen. Because dreams as good as the one he had, standing in the doorway of the Barton homestead, simply didn’t - couldn’t - come true for people like him. Not for _Captain America._

Well, now - somehow - Steve Rogers was living that dream. Now he wasn’t Captain America anymore. Now he was Natasha Romanoff’s fiancé, the luckiest man in the world. Now he owned a home, where he could do all the things he had wanted to do since he came out of the ice.

He realised, as he clasped his hand around the one that had covertly found its way over to his, stroking it lovingly with his thumb, that he had everything he ever wanted.

Steve glanced up to see Natasha eating her food, the tiniest of smirks on her face. She looked up, sensing his attention had shifted to the woman in front of him. Their eyes met. He couldn’t help the growing smile on his face, a smile that was blossoming just as bright on hers, as they both realised where they were.

Steve continued gazing into her eyes, those bright green eyes that now held a spark just for him. Only for him. He thanked every higher power he knew that the love of his life was right there in front of him, sharing this private, intimate moment with him.

After all, where else was he going to get a view like this?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place directly before the epilogue of Homebound.

Steve loved Natasha, with all of his heart, but even he could admit that, when it came to baking, she was completely inept. She could cook, sure. She could manhandle him into a headlock and keep him there if she really tried. She could put the fear of death into him with a single stare. She was exemplary in many, many things, and he wouldn’t change a single thing about her, however as soon as she was presented with any cake-related task, she was helpless. Not that she would ever admit it though, asking for help was beneath her. So he would simply stand back and wait.

And that’s what he has been doing for the past twenty minutes, watching as the kitchen slowly began to resemble a war zone - well, a floury, doughy war zone. Her tank top and jeans were now caked - no pun intended - in a layer of stray ingredients, and her bright red hair was sticking out in all different directions. She looked like a mess, but she was the cutest mess the old soldier had ever seen.

Steve tried his best to stifle his laugh, under the irritated glare of his fiancée.

“You got something to say, Rogers?” she asked, frantically stirring the content of the bowl in front of her.

“No, no, nothing at all,” he quickly replied, holding his hands up. “Just admiring your fortitude.”

“My _what_?”

“I was expecting you to give up at least five minutes ago,” he explained. “You’re doing well.”

“You should know by now,” she grinds out, as the ingredients begin to cling together, making stirring them all the harder, “I’m… very… resilient--”

The paste gave way and an explosion of flour and dough rained down onto the kitchen counter. Natasha could only stare as the somewhat clean surface became smothered with what used to be in the bowl. Her eyes looked comically dead inside. She sighed, dropping the wooden spoon into the ceramic bowl.

“Would you like some help?” Steve asked gently. She slowly turned towards him and nodded reluctantly. He smiled, making his way round to her side of the table and looking over her shoulder into the bowl, stealthily wrapping himself around her. “Well, it’s not unsalvageable.”

He felt Nat lean back against his chest, letting out a small scoff.

“That bad, huh?” she asked. Steve leaned down and pressed a light kiss on her crown.

“We can fix her,” he assured her, “Just needs a little care and attention.”

“She’s gonna need a lot more than that, Rogers, if she’s gonna become a cake,” she replied dryly. Steve chuckled, rubbing his hands down her sides.

“I wasn’t talking about the cake,” he teased. He heard the woman in his arms emit a loud groan and he couldn’t help but laugh along.

“Is it too late to call it all off?” she joked, turning in his arms and wrapping her own around his neck.

“I don’t think so, Romanoff,” he replied coyly, “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

“How unfortunate,” she whispered sarcastically, placing a kiss on his cheek. “So, how do we save the cake?”

“Well, we’ll need some flour and some milk… and some eggs... and a little bit of butter and sugar.”

“Would you say we’ll need them in the amount that it says in the recipe?” Nat asked innocently.

“I’d say so, why?”

“Because it sounds like you’re just going to make a whole new cake,” she observed sceptically.

“Nooooo,” Steve said, “I wouldn’t do that. That would be treason against your baking authority.”

“As far as I’m concerned,” she replied, slipping out of his embrace and moving towards the stairs, “ _You’re_ the baking authority now. I’m going to get cleaned up.”

“Any chance I can join you?” Steve called after.

“Only if you finish the cake!”

Steve sighed. Resigning himself to his fiancée’s orders, he quickly washed his hands and put on a spare apron.

It was important that they got this cake right. This would be the cake that they will take with them when they reunite with Clint. When he finds out that she’s still alive. They never got the chance to tell him after Vormir, after buying the house, after moving in. Overall, it had been three weeks since Clint last saw her. He and Nat had agreed that he needed to readjust to having his family again, that he needed time alone to grieve. He needed to come to terms with what she had done, and why she had done it.

However Natasha was still nervous, he could tell.  Clint was her friend, her _best_ friend, her brother in all but blood. He had been her family for the longest time. However, they both knew that Clint hadn’t been in the best frame of mind for a long time now. Not since he had lost his wife and children and Natasha had retreated into her work as an Avenger. There was no telling how he would react to seeing her alive. Steve had every confidence that Clint would welcome her with open arms, just as the other Avengers had, but Natasha wasn’t convinced.

That was something Steve had been working on ever since he brought her here: helping her to reform her own self-image. Natasha was a hero, there was no doubt about it. She’s a beautiful, kind, caring person, and a worthy member of the Avengers. Everyone who had ever worked alongside her knew that to be true. Everyone except for her. She still saw herself as a red ledger. She still had it in her mind that there was a debt to be paid, that she didn’t deserve to be happy or selfish. It was a mindset that she had cultivated for the longest time, and a mindset like that didn’t just go away. Steve could relate to that all too well.

Before he knew it, the cake was in the oven. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he had just zoned out, his hands going into auto-pilot. The water from the upstairs shower had been shut off a long time ago, and yet Natasha still hadn't returned.

He washed his hands, wiped the kitchen counter and began to tread upstairs. He listened out for any signs of Nat, before his attention was brought to the door of their shared bedroom, opened ever so slightly ajar. He spotted her through the slim gap, sitting on the bed, wrapped in a fluffy white towel. She was staring off into space, her brow furrowed in a way that suggested that whatever she was thinking about wasn’t the happy kind.

Steve gently opened the door, giving her plenty of time to adjust herself. He shifted past the entranceway, only to find she had barely moved. He carefully kneeled in front of her, taking her hands in his, rubbing her thumb with his in a way that he hoped was soothing.

“What’s up?” he asked. She glanced up at him, leaning her head against his.

“He won’t forgive me,” she whispered.

“He already has,” he said resolutely, reaching up to cup her head securely against his. “He understood, Nat. He'll be ecstatic to see you again. He won’t care how it happened.”

“I let him down,” she continued as if she didn't hear him. “I should have been there for him.”

“We all should've. No one blames you, Natasha. We were all hit hard. We all had to take a step back in some way. Even you.”

She drew herself back and her eyes met his for the first time since he walked into the room. It was a known secret between the two of them that whilst her stares could intimidate, terrify even, his blue-eyes had the ability to calm her to a standstill. He’d never hear it from her, but she had a weakness for those eyes. It was her only weakness. No matter what mood she was in, if he truly wanted to, Steve could calm her down instantly with a single glance.

“He trusted me to be there for him,” she argued weakly. “His whole world came crumbling down, and I wasn't there to help him. I wish I tried harder.”

“Harder than you already did?” Steve retorted. He shook his head tiredly. “You nearly worked yourself to death, Nat. You kept the Avengers going - what was left of them, anyway. I honestly don’t know how you did it.”

“You.”

He glanced up to find her green eyes staring back into his.

“I never told you,” she whispered, “But even back then I knew… I knew I felt something more than just friendship. I had a nightmare, one night. I was back at Wakanda, I was in the forest, running, watching everyone disappear… I couldn’t find you…”

He lifted her up from the bed, resting her small body in his lap, wrapping his arms around her, keeping her in place as she continued.

“I didn’t sleep well for days afterwards. I never said anything, obviously, I thought if I told you I’d have to confront this… whatever I was feeling. Whenever you weren’t there I felt like I was missing something. Something important. I kept on having that dream for weeks - at one point I was tempted to go to you in the night and ask if I could sleep with you. I wanted to be around you. I think I knew, even if I couldn’t put a label on it, I knew that I wanted to be with you, for the rest of my life. As a friend, as a colleague... maybe even something more if I was lucky. I never thought I could have all this…”

“Well, you do now,” Steve whispered to her, lifting her chin so that they were face to face. He gave his signature lop-sided grin. “And just for the record, you can sleep with me whenever you want.”

“I’m counting on it.”

It sounded like it should have been a quip, but her face was dead-set, her eyes determined. Her head was nodding unconsciously. He glanced down to the hand that was currently grasped around his. The ring was still there - she must have taken it into the shower with her - and she was caressing it desperately.

“I love you.”

Her voice was sure but vulnerable. Those words did not come lightly, especially not from her. Teasing, flirting, sarcasm, those were how she typically expressed herself. This was something far more personal. This was a side of Natasha that very, very few people ever got to see. This was her, unguarded, without motive; honest. She was laying her heart on the line for him, completely at his mercy. Her surrender.

Steve gently drew her body in closer, tightly wrapping her in the soft, white towel, pressing his forehead to hers once again. He manoeuvred her so that their bodies were enclosed together in the perfect shape, keeping her warm and safe. She needed this. She needed his trust in her. She needed him to accept her, and everything that came with it. And he did so gladly.

“I love you too,” he promised. “You deserve this, Natasha. I will always be there when you wake up.”

They stayed like that for a while, curled up against each other, fully realising what their life had become, both silently amazed at just how lucky they were. It was a short time after that when the ringing bell of the kitchen timer sounded from downstairs. It can wait a few minutes longer. He gave her one last kiss, cupping her face lovingly.

“Cake's done.”

She nodded silently, leaning into the contact. 

"Do you think he'll like it?" she asked.

"I don't know," Steve confided. "It's a nice gesture at least. I'm sure the kids will love it though, especially once the icing's added."

"I want to taste-test the icing before it goes on," she said, the mischevious little smirk that he loved so much returning in full force. "I've got to have some input."

"Well," Steve smiled, "You did help engineer the prototype."

"That was immediately trashed."

"Actually it was dutifully put to rest."

"In the trash can?"

"In the trash can."

"Still, a cake is nothing without the icing. It's the most important part."

"Which is why you've placed yourself in charge?"

"Yep," she replied, ending the 'p' with a satisfying pop of her lips that made him want to kiss them all over again. He chuckled, drawing her back in for another warm embrace. He felt her settle into him, a satisfied sigh escaping from her, and he felt himself falling even deeper in love with her than ever thought possible.

"Couldn't have picked a better person."


	3. Chapter 3

“I can’t believe you’ve never watched Back to the Future,” Natasha’s voice sounded from behind the TV.

“Sorry. I was kinda busy. You know, saving the world, falling in love…” Steve replied, the smile evident in his voice even from all the way on the other side of the room.

“Nice try, but that’s no excuse, soldier. You and I are watching Back to the Future, right now, and that’s final.”

“If you say so.”

Movie night in the household was a fairly regular occurrence now that the two have finally managed to hook up the DVD player to a safe power source - _one_ missing arc reactor couldn’t hurt, right? Some of the essentials that had been brought back from the present were Natasha’s extensive film collection, a catalogue that she and Steve had been slowly working through in their spare time. So far they’d gone through the best of the 60s and the 70s, skirting around the following decades, but now they had moved on to the 80s, and there was one film that according to Natasha was compulsory viewing.

“I swear this was my favourite movie for the longest time," Natasha reminisced. “This was one of the first movies Clint made me watch when I moved to America.”

“So, what is it about again?” Steve asked as he carried the fresh bowl of popcorn from the kitchen to the living area.

“You can’t guess from the title?”

“I’m assuming time travel is part of it…?”

“You’d be correct.”

“That’s gonna be weird.”

“How come?” she asked. Steve raised an eyebrow, gesturing around to the house they were currently standing in. “Ah. I see what you mean. But hey, at least it’ll be interesting, you know, comparing real time travel with fictional time travel.”

“I suppose so,” Steve sighed, seating himself on the sofa in front of the tv. “I’m not sure I entirely understand it anyway.” He moved his arm to allow her access to his side, where she lay her body against him.

“Don’t think about it too hard,” she said, snuggling into his chest. “Just enjoy the movie.”

They sat and let it play.

It started off fun, one of the goofball comedy types Steve had seen many times before. It was classic American cheese. That was until Doc Brown came into the picture, that was where Steve’s interest picked up - not only because he was an intriguing, entertaining character, but because he was also very reminiscent of another scientist. Dr Erksine. Seeing him get gunned down minutes later made Steve squirm in his seat, his grip on Natasha tightening a little. Whether or not she noticed his discomfort or not, she didn’t bring it up.

It was a few scenes later, when Marty was exploring the world of 1950s America, when Natasha chimed in.

“Any of this look familiar, Rogers?”

Steve sighed, shaking his head.

“Funny. You’re real funny.”

“For real, though, does it?” She continued, half teasing. “They were going for accuracy, after all.”

“You know you can drive about a mile down the road and see for yourself.”

“I guess, but then I would have to leave the sofa, and I’ve just gotten comfortable.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“But you love me anyway,” she replied smugly, offering him some more popcorn. He gladly took a handful.

“I was frozen in the mid-40s, grew up mid-30s,” he reminded her. “As far as valuable sources on life in the 50s go, I’m not the best.”

“Yeah, well, I was only born in the 80s, so I’m not much better - 80s _Russia_ even. I’d thought you would have a better picture of what it’s like than I would.”

“Compared to the America I grew up in, this looks… nice. Slightly romanticised, but nice. I’d go so far to say it looks peaceful, even.”

“Except for the occasional bully.”

“There’ve always been bullies, no matter what period. I should know.”

Natasha paused, glancing over at him, her brow furrowed.

“You faced a lot of bullies back in the day?”

Steve met her gaze, shrugging.

“I fought a war against the Nazis, Nat. You can’t find bullies much worse than that.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

The smile that had been plastered on Steve’s face fell.

“I… hmm…” he mumbled.

“You never talk about it,” Natasha noted, adjusting herself to better look into his face. "Growing up, before the serum, before the war."

“There’s a reason for that,” he remarked, trying desperately to shift attention back to the movie

“I’m not doubting it.”

He shifted his eyes back in her direction. She was still gazing at him expectantly.

“Nat…”

“Steve,” she intervened softly. “We don’t have to talk about this.”

“No, I…” he replied quickly. “You deserve this. I just don’t know where to start. It’s not exactly pretty.”

“Neither was mine,” she shrugged. “You’ve been trying to help me, Steve. If we want this to work in the long run, then you’re gonna have to let me do the same. Don’t think about it. Just start talking. I’m here.”

The sounds of the movie halted as Natasha grabbed the remote and pressed the pause button. He glanced towards her, her unwavering eyes, one last time. Realising that she was being earnest, he sighed, laying back on the sofa, and began talking.

“The earliest I can remember was probably around the early twenties, right around when my ma and my father decided to move to America. We stayed around the Brooklyn area; we did pretty well. My father was a dock worker and ma stayed at home, caring for me. Then the late 20s came along, and the depression hit, and it all went downhill from there.”

Memories he had been repressing since before he could remember came flooding back. Nights of hiding under the covers, away from the door, hoping that the shouting in the other room would calm down. The seething rage he couldn’t express, seeing his mother with concealed bruises. The constant fear of not knowing whether his own father would love him or hate him each day.

He instinctively reached out for Natasha and found her hand clasped in his. She was getting better at reading him every day.

“My dad lost his job, spent most of his time searching around for a new one. My mother worked to keep us all fed, but was it rarely enough. A lot of nights I went to bed hungry. It wasn’t long after that my father drank himself into the grave, meaning that ma had to work even harder just to keep us afloat. Eventually, it all caught up to her and she fell ill one day -  _really_ ill. She was bedridden, so she could no longer work. Eventually, we ran out of medicine. I ended up turning to the streets, got involved with the wrong people. I'm not proud of it, but now that I look back, I realise I was just a kid, whose mom was going to die. I was desperate. I helped rob a drugs store just to scrounge the money for rent.

“When she found out, though, she made me return everything I had taken and apologise. She told me that she wanted me to be better than that. Better than my dad. She made me promise that no matter what, I would never let myself give in to that sort of life, no matter how tough it got, no matter how desperate I might be. She died only a few days later. It was pneumonia that took her in the end. It was pretty common at the time... I was only 8 years old.  

“Even back then I was a weakling, making little more than pennies working part-time jobs, which was luckier than some back then. I was an easy target, a weedy little boy from Irish parents with no one else in the world to help him. Lucky for me, that was when Bucky stepped in. He went to a local school, I met him every once in a while, got talking. One day he saw me getting beat up in an alleyway, as usual, only this time he helped me fight back. Well, not precisely fight back, just not take it lying down. He took me in after that, became the brother I never had.

“After the Depression, I started attending school with him. I never really liked it all too much, I got bored pretty easily. I started doodling in my spare time, my art teacher noticed one day and encouraged me to pursue it. It’s how I got as good as I am now. Art and history, those were my favourites. I had a charming history teacher - strict, but nice. She always let me stay behind a little late to finish up, stood up for me if she ever saw me being bullied. Sports was another story. I never really grew up, so to speak. I was just a weakling as I always had been, so compared the rest of the kids, I left a lot to be desired. Most of the girls just looked right past me. I guess it didn’t matter too much back then, because I had my best friend with me, and that was enough. Still, I was desperate to prove myself even back then. So, when the war started up, and I was about 20, I saw it as my chance. Well, you know what happened next. Didn’t quite go that way.

“Honestly, I’m glad it didn’t. If it had, I would’ve been shipped out to the front line, got shot, tripped on my shoelaces or something, probably died within five minutes of getting there. I would’ve never been Captain America, would’ve never been frozen, woken up, become part of the Avengers. I wouldn’t have all this. I would’ve never met you. I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

Natasha sat still for a moment, taking it all in. This was a side to Steve no one, besides Bucky, had ever seen before. She hated to admit that, like many others, she had just assumed that the righteous monolith that was Captain America had lived a fairly comfortable life, exposed to all the trademarks of American culture, a child to staunch patriots that would shape his luxurious world view. Learning that it had actually been the exact opposite made almost too much sense. It hurt to imagine Steve as a scrawny, lonely little boy, being beaten up by kids twice his size, but as it turns out that was his reality for the longest time. She knew how stupid the sudden protective urge she felt towards Steve was, considering the man could bend steel with his bare hands, but she couldn't help it. She found herself crawling forward and climbing into his lap.

“Neither would I. I couldn’t imagine not meeting you, or Clint, or any of the others,” she whispered, leaning against his shoulder.

A warm feeling erupted in his chest as he stared down at her, this wondrous, amazing woman sitting practically on top of him. One of the deadliest and smartest people on the planet curled up like a housecat, appearing perfectly docile. He reached over to grab the remote, but she pinned his hand under her leg.

“No.” She leaned up, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek, holding it there for a moment before whispering tenderly to him. “You are worth all of this.”

“I never said I wasn’t,” he replied in a similarly hushed tone.

“Maybe not, but I could see it,” she replied. A hand found its way to the side of his face, tilting it towards hers so that their foreheads rested against each other. “I just know that, if I were you, that was what I would want to hear. That’s what you’ve been telling me, what with the house, the ring… Everything. I’m more than happy being your’s.”

“Nat-“

“No, no, I want this. I am yours. Just yours. No one else’s. I trust you.”

His hand found hers, adorned with the engagement he had gifted her a couple of weeks before.

“And I’m just as happy being your’s.”

Her eyes sparkled. Her face cracked into a mischievous smile.

“Was there any doubt?”

“No,” he affirmed. “I guess not. Go on, play the movie, I know you’re desperate.”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, flipping the remote into her hand using her foot. “This doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop teasing you about being old. You know that, right?”

“As long as I get to tease you about being a dork.”

“A dork who saved the universe, old man,” she corrected, pressing the button to resume to the movie.

“You know technically when I was frozen I was only 27, meaning that, when I met you, you were what? 28?”

“Actually I was 27 when we first met,” she interjected.

“So we’re _technically_ the same age,” he grinned.

“Only technically. You were born in 1918.”

“And here I am, in 1953, 35 years after I was born.”

“Yeah, and 31 years before I’m _yet_ to be born.”

He slapped his hand against his knee comically, letting an exaggerated sigh.

“If only I’d thought of that.”

“I win,” she beaming sardonically. “Now quiet, love, you need to pay attention. We’re getting to a good part.”

“I thought we were at a good part just now?”

“Yeah, and another good part is coming up, that’s why it’s the best movie of all time.”

“Pardon me… _ma’am_.”

She slowly turned back toward him.

“You wanna start something, right here, right now, Rogers?”

He met her glare with a cocky smirk.

“And what if I do?”

The two continued their staring contest, suddenly aware of close together they were, how it easy it would be just to turn the tv off and sneak away upstairs. It was nothing the couple hadn’t already done before, but that didn’t mean it was as exciting as it had always been. It was Natasha, however, who broke first, turning her attention back towards the screen.

“… After the movie, Rogers. Maybe then.”

Steve smiled, leaning back and bringing his fiancee down with him, holding her comfortably against his chest.

“I can hardly wait.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter will contain some slight upsetting/ disturbing imagery. Please take caution if you are easily triggered.

It was a calm afternoon. The wind was brisk and lazy. The sun was beating down a subtle golden hue, bringing a sense of calm to the surrounding area. Basking in the soothing summer heat sat a house, with a porch, with a swinging seat, and a small set of stars welcoming all who approached. The front door was open, left only a jar to allow the smell of freshly cut grass through into the living area. A subtle track, a classic from the end of the Second World War, played softly, accompanying the swaying motions of the room’s two sole inhabitants. 

Steve Rogers, one of those inhabitants, was currently leaning down against the other, his eyes closed as he moved slowly to the trumpets and violins. Despite having heard several decades of great music in the time since he woke from the ice, few tracks could beat the warm, homely feel of smooth jazz, and the steady voice of a woman. 

Of course, the shapely body in his arms helped contribute to the effect.

He felt his arm tighten around his fiancée’s waist, resting his cheek against her soft hair, savouring what he thought he had lost forever. The fact of the woman in his arms was a miracle. There was once time her ought he would never get the chance to move with her like this, to feel her pressed snug against his frame, her hand clasped firmly in his. He felt the metal band on her finger digging into his, a relieving pressure that made it all oh-so-real.

Steve reached out, listening to the lyrics of the song, following along with the melody.

“Kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again…”

He smiled. What a good idea, he thought to himself. Judging by the feeling of a head leaving his chest, it was apparent the woman in his arms thought likewise. 

He too leaned back, standing slightly taller, as to better see his lover. He opened his eyes, ready to look upon the face of the woman he loved.

And so his gaze met…

Brown.

Steve felt his body tense up, and suddenly the warmth of her body against his felt violating. His eyes widened, the swaying stopped, his grip on her hand faltered.

All because the face he was looking down upon was not one of Natasha Romanoff. 

It was someone else, someone he had no right to be dancing with. Someone he thought he had left behind.

It was Peggy, smiling up at him, oblivious to his shock.

Steve wanted to push away, to relinquish himself and run out of the open door, away from whatever he had just done. But he couldn’t. No matter how much he wanted too, he was stuck, frozen in place, forced to watch as her lips came closer and closer. 

Just before they came together, she stopped, noticing his frown for the first time. 

“Darling?” she asked casually. “Is something wrong?”

Steve could hardly speak. The words wouldn’t come. Too many emotions were running through his mind. But there was one question that rose to the surface, over than any other thought in his head.

“Where’s Nat?”

He looked away from Peggy’s confused expression, looking around for his lover. She was nowhere to be found. Not a trace of the woman he trusted the most. 

“Steve?” Peggy’s voice pulled his attention back to her. She was looking at him, her ruby lips parted in concern. “Who’s Nat?”

Steve felt a wave of fresh terror run through him. A shot of adrenaline allowed him the ability to disentangle himself from the woman in front of him, taking several steps away from her, glancing around wildly. No matter where he looked, Natasha wasn’t there. It was only Peggy. Her trinkets laid across the drawers, her jacket handing in the hall, her furniture, her photos, her home. Everything brought him back to the woman anxiously walking towards him.

“Darling,” she asked cautiously, reaching out, “are you feeling alright? You look scared.”

Before he could reply, Steve felt a presence behind him, and he whirled. The room dissolved around him, and the sound of music faded away.

He found himself staring at a purple sky, bristling against a biting wind. Around him stood the ruins of a mighty altar. Vormir. He was back on Vormir. And there was someone else with him, standing not twenty feet from him. A woman with red hair. He could recognise her anywhere, and a flood of relief ran through him.

 _“Nat?”_ he called. His eyes widened when he realised no sound had come out of his mouth. Alarmed, he tired again. _“Nat!”_

Silence. Not even a whisper. 

He tried screaming at the top of lungs, and still, nothing escaped past his lips.

No matter what he did, he couldn’t make a sound. And so Natasha remained her back to him, frighteningly unaware of him.

He tried running to her, only to falter when his feet wouldn’t move. He tried shifting his leg to no effect. He was stuck to the floor as if his lower half were made of stone. He couldn’t call to her, he couldn’t run to her. He was trapped.

Another figure materialised by Natasha’s side, a figure with a tattered, slowing cape, a sunken, crimson skin. The Red Skull. He spoke to her, whispering to her, so close that Steve began to bellow at him, cursing him, to no effect.

He saw Natasha stand straighter, blinding herself up with what he realised was the edge of a cliff. The same cliff he had found the last time he was on Vormir.

“It has to be me.”

Even with the biting wind rustling against his ears, her words came as clear as crystal. As clear as the way her voice trembled. As clear as the terror clinging to her. 

Steve knew what she was about to do.

“ _No!”_ Steve breathed, trying harder than ever to move his legs.

“Whatever it takes,” she said dutifully, and he could tell she was crying. 

“ _NO!”_ he bellowed, desperate to pierce the silence. _“NAT!”_

He could see her shaking. Tiny jerks in her fingers that betrayed the true extent of her fear. He wanted to rush to her, to pull her into his arms and comfort her. To save her from this awful fate.

“ _Nat, use me!”_ he begged.  _“USE ME!”_

She ignored him. Steve felt his stomach turn as, to his horror, she took a step towards the edge.

“It’s not like anyone will miss me, anyway,” she said forlornly, and Steve felt his heart break in two.

“ _No, NAT, I LOVE YOU!”_  he cried. _“LET ME DO THIS! PLEASE!”_

She paused, looking down. The tips of her boots skimmed the lip of the rock. One stray gust of wind would push her over, into the abyss.

There was no saving her, Steve realised. There was nothing he could do. He had to watch.

Defeated, he crumpled, staring at her, imploring her to look at him. For the first time in his life, Steve begged.

_“Nat…”_

Without looking back, without saying goodbye, she leaned forward and fell out of sight. 

 _“NO!”_ he screamed, and this time the sound came. Far too late.

Steve scrambled to the edge, peering over just in time to see her fall. She hadn’t yet hit the ground, she was still hurtling away from him. Her eyes were wide in distress. Despite the heavy winds and vast distance between them, he could hear her desperate scream as if she were only a few feet away. She was screaming his name, begging him to save her. 

He reached his arm down hopelessly, knowing it was already too late.

He felt himself being jerked away before he could see her land.

“NAT!” he cried instinctively, suddenly feeling the wind die.

Steve found himself sitting at a well-furnished table. Across from, smiling as if nothing had happened, was Peggy. in between them were ornate plates and cutlery, two tall candles and a bouquet. Surrounding them - smothering them - were several other tables, similarly furnished, crowded with dozens upon dozens of people. The walls of whatever expansive room they were in were decorated with red curtains, similar to the red table clothes, red ambient lights, the red of Peggy’s dress. Her lipstick, which painted her easy, pleasant smile.

The sight of it made his blood boil. Whatever this was, this wasn't Peggy. It didn't deserve to wear that face.

 _“_ Where is she?” he demanded, gripping the table tightly. 

“I beg your pardon?” she asked, to which Steve rose from his seat.

“WHERE IS SHE? What did you do to her?”

Its face looked entirely unfazed.

Knowing he wouldn’t get an answer, Steve whirled around, scanning each of the faces in the crowd, or trying to too. They seemed to blur together, becoming a misshapen, formless thing, moving to the tune of slurred voices and raucous laughter, high, shrieking and drunk.

He was about to turn away when he noticed the dance floor, illuminated brightly in the middle of the hall. A large group of people were gathered around it, cheering for something. There was no one dancing, none that he could see, but there was something there. Steve abandoned his table, studying through the gaps in the people, trying to get a glimpse of what had attracted their attention. 

He rose on the tips of his toes, craning his neck to get a better view. His eyes met crimson, and he froze. His eyes followed up along the dark shape of a leg, and arm, a torso, a neck, all framed in a halo of dark red. It was a body, lying prone in the middle of the wooden floor. 

“Don’t mind her,” he heard Peggy’s voice remark, “There’s nothing you can do.”

Peering through, squinting against the gleam of the spotlights on the varnished wood, Steve should just make out a braid of hair. Red, tipped with blonde. His heart stopped.

Steve hurriedly pushed past the jeering crowd, barging to get to the body in the middle of the dance hall. The people barely registering as he all but tackled them out of his path. His only goal was to get to the dance floor. 

Steve emerged from into the open floor and looked down. He blanched, his knees suddenly gave out. 

It was Natasha, lying spread in a puddle of her own blood. Her lips were slightly parted, allowing a small river of red to fall past her chin. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears, open, dull and unseeing. The spark that they once held, the spark that Steve had fallen in love with, was gone. 

She was dead and there was nothing he could do except weep.

Steve numbly crawled to her, his pants soaking themselves in crimson, not that he cared. All he cared about was the body lying in front of him, the one he was desperately grabbing at, trying in vain to bring her back to life.

“No… no,” he bawled, rocking her back and forth. “I love you… please… please…”

The body remained cruelly silent. The crowd continued to laugh and shout and talk as if nothing had happened. As if all was fine in the world. As if the love of his life wasn’t lying dead in his arms.

He wanted to shout, to scream, to punch the floor and break his wrists. He wanted to lie in her place, to bleed out, alone and abandoned, anyone but Natasha. 

He feels a tugging on his back, the feeling of a hand on his shoulder, and suddenly his grip on Natasha’s body slipped.

“War’s over, Steve,” Peggy called to him, her usual warmth replaced with a cold detachment. “Time to come home.”

Steve reached out, trying to find a hold on Natasha’s body. Every time his fingers found purchase, they would pass through her, making it impossible for him to hold on. Steve could only watch powerlessly as he was hauled bodily away by an unseen force, back into the crowd, the shapes of bodies obscuring the love his life from his view. 

“No!” he tried to protest. “No!”

It was fruitless. The more Steve struggled, the tighter the grip, the faster he was pulled back to his table, back to Peggy.

“It’s too late,” she said coldly, rising from her seat. “Too late to save her.”

The form of Peggy began to advance on him, her eyes darkening. 

“Too late to save Bucky. Too late to save Howard. Too late, every time, Steve,” she spat, her arms raising from her sides. 

Steve felt himself being lifted to his feet, compelled through the air as his limbs were stiffly forced to reciprocate her embrace.

“No,” he urged, screaming at his frozen limbs to move, shaking his head violently. “I don’t want this.”

“But you do,” Peggy told him. “You’ve always wanted this. Wanted me. And I waited for you.”

Her two hand on his chest shoved him away, so violently that he tripped on his feet, falling to the ground heavily. He glanced up at her as she slowly began to change. 

“I waited for so long,” she wailed, her voice coming raspy and faint. “It’s been so long.”

By now, it was all Steve could do to curl up into himself, a wave of fresh tears making his face, and suddenly he was that scrawny kid from Brooklyn again, trying desperately to shield himself from what would come next.

“I’m sorry,” he begged. “I’m sorry!”

He glanced up again, just in time to see Peggy's image begin to change. Long silver hairs slithered out of her head, her once smooth skin peeled away, revealing pale, wrinkled flesh. Her body shrivelled, her muscles wasting away to reveal the bone underneath, her dress sagging on her diminishing frame. Her eyes clouded, turning into glassy orbs, cold and unseeing and yet they skewered him on the spot.

“I waited for you,” she breathed, her voice sounding like a hollow rush of air, “and you never came back…”

Her dull eyes sunk inwards, her flesh greying as her face became skeletal. With one last scream, the decrepit body of Peggy collapsed into a pile of dust and bone, her skull shattering as it landed.

Steve cried out, crawling away from the encroaching ashes that threatened to swallow him whole. The room began to feel cold. The dust became fluid, seeping into his clothes, engulfing his lower body. He looked up, straight into a ceiling of bolted steel. The water had already reached his chest when he began screaming for help. 

He tried banging his fist against the metal plates, his lungs burning as he begged for help, reliving the last few conscious moments before the ice came to reclaim him. The freezing water had reached his cheeks and was pouring into his open mouth. The added weight of his wet clothes dragged him under the surface, into the dark depths that lay beneath him. He felt his lungs burning as the air left his gullet, suddenly unable to breathe. 

He writhed around, trying to swim upward, only to sink faster. 

His body hit the bottom of the aircraft, and he bolted upright. Steve jerked his head around on the spot.

The master bedroom, lit only by the soft beams of moonlight pouring through the open window, met his eyes. Slowly more of the room came into focus. Pictures, furniture, clothes, things he recognised. Eventually, the sounds of rustling leaves met his ears and all at once he was back on earth. 

Steve breathed a sigh of relief. He was home. He was safe. It was just a nightmare. 

Steve turned, spotting Natasha’s sleeping form, her face relaxed and content, long beneath the covers. Her long, red hair lay spread out on the pillow behind her head, like a glorious halo. She was so beautiful in her relaxed state, it made him want to cry anew.

He relaxed, falling back onto his pillow, staring up at the ceiling as his dream began replaying itself. Over and over again, the images of Peggy, the Red Skull, Vormir, the dance-hall… Natasha…

He choked on his breath, struggling to keep himself composed. He was out of practice with the old military attitude, the mental discipline he had developed over his many years of being a leader which forbade him to show emotion. Emotion was weakness. Weakness got you killed. 

Except now it was different. Now, Steve was alone, with only the love of his life, who appeared to be far away from consciousness. He was allowed a moment of weakness, surely? 

It was a hard habit to break, especially for someone like him. Someone who had put his life on the line more times than he could count. The idea of allowing himself anything seemed alien to him. It seemed selfish, and he didn’t want to be selfish. 

“Steve?” the hoarse, throaty voice of his fiancée sounded from beside him.

He turned, and his gaze met the squinting, sleepy eyes of Natasha, who had somehow woken up without him noticing. She was leaning on her elbow, her brow creased in that particular way whenever she was worried or confused.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“It’s nothing,” Steve replied, trying his best smile. “Go back to sleep.”

“Not it’s not,” she replied bluntly. “You’re sweating.”

She shuffled closer, a soft hand felt against his chest, coming to rest against his heart, feeling the rapid pumping that lay underneath. 

Her face morphed into one of a patient, dawning understanding.

“What was it about?” she deduced far too quickly someone who had only just woken up. Then again, she was one of the brightest people Steve had ever met - and that was coming from someone who personally knew at least three people of genius-level intellect.

He sighed, shaking his head.

“I saw you die…” he eventually managed to whisper. He glanced up at her, for some reason expecting her to appear frustrated, or upset. Instead, she merely lowered her head against his chest, using his body as a pillow. She felt warm and surprisingly soft. He wrapped his arms around her, bringing her in, reassuring himself that she was safe. She was alive and safe, in his arms. 

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, snuggling into his embrace. 

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “No, it’s not your fault.”

“Well, it was me who jumped.”

“Nat,” he sighed. “It’s not that. I’m just scared that one day- one day I’m gonna wake up and be back in my bed all by myself again. I scared that I’m gonna lose you again. And if that does happen…. I’m not strong enough, Nat. I couldn’t…”

He didn’t trust himself to speak, not without choking up, so he stopped, opting instead to lean into her, savouring the feeling of her form against his side and across his chest. The subtle rhythm of her beating heart thumped rhythmically to affirming time. The couple was silent for a while, too caught up in each other to speak. When the time came, it was Natasha who broke the silence.

“You know, for the longest time,” she whispered, “after you brought me back, I thought… I thought that I was still dead. That whatever was happening to me was… I don't know, heaven. That's what it felt like. The man I love, bringing me home, holding me, making love to me, promising himself to me. There were nights where I was terrified to fall asleep. ’Cause I thought I might not wake up the next morning. ‘Cause I thought all this might just disappear... and I’d be dead.”

She leaned up, staring him in the eye.

“But eventually I realised that… If I did die, if my last night was here, with you… I wouldn’t want it any other way. I’ll always be here, Steve. For as long as you want me, I’m here.”

“Then promise me,” Steve said softly. “Promise me you’ll stay.”

Natasha smiled, lifting her hand to reach around to his, allowing him to feel the metal band wrapped around her finger.

“I already have.”


	5. Chapter 5

The day started off like any other.

The two of them woke up at the crack of dawn, just before six o’clock - more out of habit than any obligation. After a brief, lazy session of lying in each other’s arms, they quickly dressed into something more practical. Or at least more practical for jogging. The form-fitting lycra outfit that hugged her curves just a little bit too tight was no more practical than anything else she wore. Then again, as far as she was concerned, it was a multi-purpose tool.

Those purposes soon became apparent once they started running.

Or rather, when she started running. Natasha always liked to get a head start - Steve could quickly close the gap once he got going. Besides that, it allowed her a sly satisfaction, knowing that Steve could be just behind her, unable to chase her just yet. It was a warm, tantalising anticipation, to see how far she could sprint before the inevitable sounds of trainers against gravel found her back.

The usual was about a mile. Today it was less.

Something about this morning felt different. Steve felt far more alive, filled with vitality and a spirit that seemed unsinkable. Maybe it was because the barn had finally been finished. That the house was now renovated and looking better than ever. Now they finally had a home, somewhere to settle, with the date for the wedding decided.

His newfound confidence had shown in more ways than one. If the two of them had been close before they were inseparable now. The house and the barn had only served to help them realise just what they had, that this perfect life that had found was very, very real.

And so he had caught up, barely out of breath, a dangerous glint in his eye that reminded her one simple fact. The very reason why her outfit was multi-purpose in its constrictions, the same reason why Steve always refused to wear shirts that didn’t cling to him like a second skin.

This wasn’t just exercise, not for them. This was flirting, in a way only the two of them could.

It wasn’t long before the two of them were running side by side, down the forest track, shaded by canopy, pathed with nothing but dirt and errant grass. They passed the farmer’s field, allowing them the sight of golden wheat bursting into harvest, the sun cresting the tops of the trees as the day.

Natasha welcomed the early mornings if only for scenes like these.

Steve, however, only had eyes for her.

He swivelled, mid-step so that he was now jogging backwards, allowing Natasha a proper view of his teasing grin. Steve was rarely smug - his mother taught him that it was unbecoming of him. At that moment, however, he was getting close to it, treading the line as lightly as he was the gravel path ahead of him. He moved with surprising grace, allowing him to keep up with her as she stepped up her pace to a sprint. She was more than eager to wipe that smirk off of his face, even if it meant tiring herself out. She knew she wouldn’t be able to keep this up - the serum running through Steve’s veins made sure of that - but that didn’t mean she would try.

The chase was half the fun.

They rounded the corner, just as Natasha danced past him, reminding who was the real ballerina in their dynamic. She sent him a similarly teasing smirk as he tried to reach for her, only to side-step, avoiding his grasp by just enough. He half-heartedly glared at her, tilting his head as if to throw down the gauntlet.

Natasha yawned mockingly, enjoying the fire that erupted behind his eyes at such an insult.

His legs worked like a blur. His body rushed past her, his tread hitting the dirt like no one she had ever seen before. She fell behind before she even realised it. One moment he was beside her, the next he was far ahead, kicking up dust clouds that she shifted to avoid.

Steve turned back to her, his shoulder almost perpendicular to his waist, allowing her a full view of his bright, unfazed complexion as he reached the end of the track.

It also meant that he didn’t notice the truck until it collided into his side.

It was only pure instinct that helped Nat stop just in time so that the vehicle missed her. The urgent squealing of rubber against gravel and the truck came to a halt.

Even with her trained reflexes, it took Natasha a moment to process what had happened. The truck was sitting just beyond her, the engine still running. The driver was looking outward, his eyes wide and his body stiff. She looked past the bonnet of the truck, to the open road. The sprawled form of Steve settled several yards down the road, face down on the gravel. It took far too long for the shock to hit her, but when it did, the air left her lungs, and her heart jumped.

Paying the truck driver no notice, Natasha rushed to Steve’s side, turning him over and skittishly scanning him for injuries. There was little blood, except for only his forearms which had taken the brunt of the fall. His shirt has ripped and worn away, revealing his darkened ribs, probably broken. His back too was grazed, along with his knees and thighs. If it had been anyone else, a collision like that would have resulted in certain death, but this was Steve. He had taken far worse, Natasha reasoned. Not that it brought her much comfort. Judging by the way her heart was beating out of her chest; how she felt like throwing up; how her hands were shaking violently as she carefully examined her injured lover.

She was so caught up in her own head, she barely registered the driver hurriedly opening the door and running up to them.

“Holy hell!” he exclaimed faintly. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I didn’t see him. He just… Is he…?”

Natasha turned her attentive gaze away from Steve for a moment. She glanced over her shoulder at the man anxiously walking towards the pair of them. For a moment, she thought she saw Sam looking back at her, but she dismissed the thought immediately. The Sam she knew wouldn’t meet her for another sixty years yet.

The man in front of her now was older, with dark, winkling skin contrasting against short, raven hair. He was around his late-forties, Natasha deduced. He was reasonably tall, his stature slouched over tiredly, making his plaid shirt and suspenders crumple over his denim jeans.

“I’m alright,” Steve groaned, attempting to sit up. Natasha looped her arm around his back, heaving him up into a sitting position. He winced suddenly, his hand reaching towards his ribs, and Natasha noticed that one of that stuck out at a weird angle. Definitely broken, then. Must have happened in the crash. They’d have to get that fixed later. Now, they had the driver to deal with.

The man in question stared at Steve with a mix of awe, shock and relief.

“Thank the lord,” he gasped, reaching up to rest his hand on his heart. “I am so sorry-“

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve groaned, lifting himself to his feet. “It was my fault for not looking. You did nothing wrong.”

The driver seemed taken aback.

“Why, I… well, alright then,” he nodded. His eyes fell the grazes on Steve’s arms. He cringed. “Ouch. That’s gotta sting something mighty.” He gestured for them to follow him. “Bring ’im here. I’m sure I’ve got something in the back for that.”

“Thank you,” Natasha replied as she herded Steve carefully to the back of the semi. She knew he was perfectly able to walk by himself. Still, she stayed by his side anyway, gripping his bicep carefully, acting the overly-protective spouse that was common for the time. A pointed glance towards Steve had him hunching over, his gait shifting into his best impression of a limp. He’d learned a lot about blending in during their time on the run from the Accords. However, every so often, he needed a reminder, especially when it came to hiding his strength.

The couple made their way to the back of the truck, where the driver unravelled the tarpaulin covering its contents. He reached inside one of the wooden crates, producing a roll of bandages which he quickly offered to the pair.

“Here,” he said, handing them a glass bottle of water along with it. “This should help clean the wound.”

“Thank you,” Steve replied, cringing convincingly as he allowed Natasha to put the cold water over his wounds.

“You know,” the driver said, “it’s a miracle you ain’t dead. I thought…”

“Well,” Natasha replied tersely, “we’re used to miracles.”

“Uh-huh?” the driver murmured. He watched as Natasha wound the material around Steve’s arms, wrapping them tightly. “You two should probably get to the doctor’s.”

“No, no. I can patch this up back at our’s.”

“At least let me give you both a ride home, then,” he insisted, loading the truck back up. “Where abouts do you two live?”

Her eyes locked with Steve’s, commanding him to remain quiet.

“Oh, no, we’ll be alright. It’s not too far from here.”

The driver sighed.

“Maybe,” he said tiredly, “but honestly, ma’am, it would settle me greatly. I’d hate to leave you two out here alone and injured. Please.”

Steve looked as conflicted as she did. They wanted to lend him the courtesy, really they did, but the idea of allowing another person into their home felt dangerous. Too many questions would be raised, too many opportunities for anachronisms. Not only that but if they were to open up once again, to become known entities in the community, it would put them at risk. If a single person found out their real names - especially Steve’s - the consequences could be catastrophic. They came here to escape catastrophe, not cause it. The two of them had enough of world-ending disasters for one lifetime.

“I’m sorry,” Steve replied, hating every word that he forced from his mouth, “we’d rather walk. It’s complicated.”

The man nodded, his eyes falling to the gravel.

“No, I understand,” he placated, with a hint of agitation. “I really do. You both got plenty of reasons not to be seen with me-“

“Which are?” Steve’s eyes had widened, his posture rising to attention.

The man looked at them as if they had just asked about the colour of grass.

“Come on, now,” he replied. “You know how people feel about my folk.”

Nat’s eyes narrowed.

“Your folk?” she asked.

And then the penny dropped. For perhaps the first time they had moved, she was reminded that they were in fact in 1953. A time before many things the two of them had taken for granted.

“Oh…” was all she could say, ashamed that she could have forgotten.

“Yeah,” the driver nodded patiently. “I’m sorry, I just… Doesn’t matter. Let’s just not mention this to no one, alright? Don’t give them any more reasons.”

He tipped the brim of his cap in parting and made to walk back to the driver’s seat. The couple gave each other one last glance, knowing precisely what the other was thinking. To hell with catastrophe. Safety was never their thing anyway.

“Wait,” Natasha called, halting the driver in his tracks. She cleared her throat, adjusting herself. “We’d be happy to ride with you. Thank you.”

The driver glanced at Steve, who merely nodded, a steely glint in his eye, a signal from man to man. Realising that their minds were made up, the driver tilted his head, his eyebrows raised nonchalantly. There was a hint of a smile ghosting his lips, and sparkle in his eye.

“Very well,” he conceded, winding around the bonnet of the vehicle and hauling the passenger door. “Hop in. Mind the mess.”

 

* * *

 

 

The truck was an older model, rusting at the seams. The ride, therefore, was a loud, bumpy experience. Every so often the three of them were jostled violently, their travels set to the tune of tinkling milk bottles and the chugging of an engine lost past its prime. Natasha and Steve had managed to squeeze themselves on one side of the cabin, allowing their new companion space to drive. Not that they minded. They were entirely used to being in each other’s personal space.

“You two aren’t from around here, are you?” the driver noted after a few minutes of comfortable silence. Natasha felt Steve chuckled, his chest rumbling against her side.

“How could you tell?”

The driver shrugged.

“The running. No one usually does that unless they’ve got somewhere to be. And judging by the fact that I found you all the way out here, I don’t think you got anywhere to be.” He smiled, tapping the steering wheel in amusement. “Wherever you’re from, do people just run for the sake of it?”

“Gotta keep the blood pumping somehow.”

“Yeah, well, some of the people around here have had enough of that, especially after the war,” he said tiredly. He turned and glanced towards Steve as they hit an empty road. “You a soldier, son?”

Steve glanced back, his posture stiffening, unsure how far to draw the line.

“I was.”

“And I’m assuming you too, missy?” he asked Natasha, who pondered a moment.

“Well,” she smiled, “I suppose so, yes.”

“Yeah, you see you got that look in your eye,” he noted. “Damn well glared straight through me. Thought I was gonna melt. How’d you two meet?”

“It was after the war, actually,” Steve laughed. Which was true, if significantly understated. Natasha smothered the sly grin that threatened to erupt on her lips.

“We both served,” she quickly added. “Steve was in active duty, but I worked as a field nurse. We met sometime after V-Day, a mutual friend put us in touch.”

This was also no hint of a lie. It just so happened that their mutual friend was more of a mutual boss, as well as an internationally renowned spy.

“Been working together ever since,” Steve said happily, throwing his arm over her shoulder in a demonstration.

“And when did you decided to hitch it?” the driver asked.

“Oh, it was actually a few months ago,” Natasha explained. The driver frowned.

“You waited this long? I’m surprised.”

“Well, it hasn’t exactly been smooth sailing,” Steve noted, to which the driver chuckled heartily.

“It rarely is. I remember me and my darling took a while to figure it out.”

“And how’s that going?”

“I’d say it’s going pretty well. Got two kids, eleven and nine. It’s…” He stared out onto the open road, gripping the wheel tightly. “Well, we’re making do.”

“No one giving you trouble?”

“Nothing more than the usual,” he grumbled.

“And what’s the usual?” Natasha asked carefully.

“Nothing for you worry about,” he insisted. “We’ve handled worse.”

“You shouldn’t have to-” Steve tried to argue but was immediately cut off.

“No, no one _should_ , but that’s the world we live in.” He glanced towards Steve, his frown set. “You know that, son.”

Whatever response Steve had ready died in his throat. His brow furrowing as he realised just how accurate the driver’s words were. She could feel his fingers tightening at his side, his jaw clenched in a picture of agitation, pity and discontent.

Natasha knew that feeling all too well.

To Steve, the past was always something regarded with fondness, with simplicity and nostalgic memories of clear morals and heroism. Those feelings were partly what fueled their decision to come back. Now, here they were, back in the past, back in those times before the morally grey and the complicated, staring straight into its dark side.

Natasha knew what it was like having your whole world uprooted, having the glimmering sheen torn away to reveal the dirty underbelly. It was practically routine for her. But this was Steve, the man who put his faith in people and almost always had it rewarded. And now he was faced with the disappointment of reality, faced with a problem he could do nothing about.

They were as safe as they were imprisoned. History couldn’t touch them, and in turn, they couldn’t touch history. And Natasha hated as much as he did.

She discreetly squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, turning to gaze out of the window. All they could do was be best they could be and hope the rest of the world caught up. And be glad in the knowledge that the future held better things.

The rest of the ride was set to an awkward silence, far less comfortable than the one that had preceded it.

 

* * *

 

 

The truck eventually pulled onto the dirt path leading into the homestead soon afterwards, braking just in front of the house. The couple jumped out, closing the door behind them.

“Thanks for the lift,” Natasha offered with a smile, which the driver reciprocated.

“You’re welcome,” he replied. He gazed out of the driver’s window up at the house, his face lighting up in recognition. “So you’re the young couple that took over the Simon estate. I thought it might have been you. It’s good the see the old place getting some love.”

Natasha was just glad that they had managed to get the barn done in time to hide the Quantum tunnel. Lord knows what kind of excuse they would have had to pull for that.

“What do we owe you?” Steve asked. The man simply shook his head.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. As far we’re concerned, we’re even,” he smiled genially.

Steve looked like he was about to push the issue. For some reason, he chose not to, instead deciding to smile back.

“We never caught your name, by the way,” Steve noted. The man shrugged once again.

“I never caught your’s.”

Steve laughed, placing his arm around Natasha, as husbands usually do.

“Steven, Natalie,” he gestured respectively, “Roberts.”

The man gave them one last grin.

“Jeremiah Wilson.”

The man swivelled back to the steering wheel just in time to miss how the couple’s faces fell.

“I’ll see you around, Roberts.”

And with that, he backed up the truck in the open plot beside the house and drove away, leaving the two of them standing in the dirt, utterly stunned. It was a while before either of them moved, let alone plucked up the initiative to walk back into the open house.

The next time either of them spoke was when Natasha was bathing Steve’s wounds, wiping them and bandaging carefully.

“You don’t think-“Steve began.

“Don’t,” Natasha cut him off, sending him a signature look that made sure to shut him up. “Let’s not go there.”

Steve wisely decided to stop the issue, as Natasha continued to work carefully on his injuries. Of which there were multiple. Far more than either of them realised.

“You gotta be more careful,” he eventually heard Natasha whisper.

“Yeah, I know.”

“No.” The severity in her voice caused him to pause, locking eyes with her. She gazed at him in turn, her face stiff, as it was made of china. “Promise me. Please.”

Steve wanted to tell her how little it hurt, how he had survived worse, how he was fine and would be healed by tomorrow morning, but he knew if those words had directed him, they would have done nothing to placate him. Natasha needed more than that. She needed his word. And luckily, that was precisely what he could give her.

“Okay,” he nodded. “Okay.”

She visibly relaxed, quickly going back to his wounds before she slipped into something else. Always one to hide away.

Something that Steve decided simply wouldn’t do.

“Hey,” he whispered to her. She glanced back to him, and he cupped her cheek gently. He gazed at her, pouring the depth of his emotion into a single look. “I promise.”

She blinked quickly, leaning into his touch, allowing herself just a moment of vulnerability. It was more than enough for now, Steve decided. She knew she was safe with him. She knew he would always be there if she needed him.

“By the way,” Steve smirked despite himself, gripping her arm and pulling her closer. “Since when were you a nurse?”

“Oh, you never know,” she replied, the corners of her lips turning upwards ever so slightly.

“Oh, I do know,” he teased, happy to see her cheering up, “and you, Ms Romanoff, were never a nurse.”

“As far as I’m aware, Rogers,” she countered, “international super-spy/Avenger isn’t a common occupation nowadays. I had to improvise.”

“Still… a nurse?” he pondered.

“Considering who’s patching you up at this moment.”

“Thank you for that, by the way.”

“You’re welcome,” she said pleasantly.

A dangerous thought popped into Steve’s head.

“Still,” he offered shrewdly, “if you’re willing to play nurse.”

Natasha only response was to tighten the bandage around his forearm, causing him to wince. “Ow, okay. I asked for that. Sorry.”

Natasha smiled, placing a small kiss on his cheek in compensation.

“Try not to run in front of any more trucks, and I’ll think about it,” she offered, wiggling her eyebrows.

“I’ll try, super-spy.”

“Don’t push your luck, Rogers,” she warned, staring him dead in the eye.

Steve merely leaned back in his chair, his shit-eating grin back in full force.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

 


End file.
